Southern Baptist newspapers frequently appeal to Confederate soldiers to place their faith in God and hope in the afterlife, appropriating images of mothers, wives and sisters. The following appeal in circulation this week is one example:
Soldier of the Southern Confederacy! –To you I would fain speak a few words, and though others wield the pen more powerfully, and are better qualified for this important duty, still with the aid of an all-powerful Friend I hope to whisper a few words of comfort in your ear, and by the mingling of a few thoughts of sweet consolation, detract if possible, a drop or two of bitterness from your cup of woe. But what shall I say? Shall I renumerate the soldier’s troubles?–Shall I speak of his tedious march, or his blanket on the ground? Shall I mention the many trials and privations to which he is unavoidably subjected? or the many self-sacrifices made for the sacred cause of Southern Liberty? No–I would rather banish these oft-mentioned troubles, and while I often think of and pity the soldier’s fate, and endeavor to pray for his success in worldly combat, I am not forgetful of the more important conflict in which he is daily, yea momentarily engaged. While the victory of the one is unspeakably dear, that of the other eternal. ‘Tis of this latter warfare I now would speak, and before preceeding further I wish to know if thou my friend art a soldier of this Holy War? The drama of life will soon be o’er–the common roar will cease, and the clash of arms be heard no more. King Jesus will come and claim you as his own; what then can human skill avail? Alas! nothing and without the love of God in your heart you will stand abashed and trembling before His majesty on high. Soldier, I would point you to the Lamb of your salvation, and gently beseech you to the Lamb of God–to Jesus Christ, the captain of your salvation, and gently beseech you to enlist in this heavenly warfare. Let his word be your constant guide, and when pressed with difficulties its sacred truths will inspire you with new courage and perseverance; only make your peace with God all will be well; the christian will be happy. O! soldier of the cross! thrice blessed art thou! Thy journey, however rugged, will be cheered by the hallowed sweets of religion; o’er thy darkest hours twill shed a lustre brighter than the noon-day sun. Come trouble–come sickness–come war–come death–the christian is secure: he is bravely fighting under the banner of the Lord, and “Thy will be done” is the daily motto of his heart. Though his lot be cast among strangers–though far from the endearments of home, he does not despond as do some, for he remembers that life is but a dream–even as the little flower which flourisheth in the morn, and in the eve is cut down and withereth. He remembereth that father–mother–sister–wife and friend may soon meet in a far brighter world than this. O the hope of heaven!–how sweet–how sacred its holy consolation; Religion will prove a constant friend to the soldier. Think it not a vain thing. The salvation of your soul is infinitely important: you would be more forcibly impressed with this truth could you only hear one half the prayers uttered on your behalf. Look yonder in that silent chamber, see that aged form on bended knees; his groans and sighs pierce the heart; who can it be? ah! it is a fond father praying for his wayward son. Behold that weeping mother! What forces the tear drops from her eye so full of sadness? Alas! she too is thinking of an absent one, and as the teardrops swiftly bedew her cheeks, she breathes to heaven a fervent prayer for her darling, noble soldier boy; can her entreaties be resisted? O! faithful mother! she watched your infancy–taught your tongue to lisp the Saviour’s name–led you to manhood, and now while you are far away, perhaps engaged in some sinful amusement, she never forgets her boy–no, she still prays for his eternal happiness. O, remember thy mother’s love! let her sacred name follow you wherever led, and her parting words still hold a place in your memory. What soldier will not try to pray for himself when he remember his mother’s love?
Go to another chamber: all alone sits the sorrow-stricken wife; as she reads the list of wounded or killed in some recent engagement her eye falls on the familiar name of her devoted husband: she would sink at once, but she remembers he was a christian, wipes away the scalding tears and resigns him to his God. There is still another mourner; mark her sad, though gentle face, where is her wanted glee? and where the loving companion of her childhood? why so silent; she is not silent; hark! hear that voice: “O God! shield my brother’s head, change his sinful heart, and though we never meet again on earth, may we be united in heaven.” O! the depth of a sister’s love. Here words fail to express the language of my heart; my soldier friends will please pardon me for an allusion to the memory of one who now lies silent in the grave. Yes, I once had a gentle, loving brother, but death came and robbed me of my idol–yes Richard is dead! I would have each soldier friend to die as he died, his tongue uttering the promises of God, and his voice singing his power to save. That your end may be peaceful like this, I entreat you to come to Jesus. Soldier, what wouldst thou not give to return to the loved ones at home? What joy would fill thy bosom to know that this noble Confederacy was henceforth forever secure? and to see our Southern land once more clothed in the mantle of peace! Such a victory would indeed be glorious, but there is another still more desirable–the victory of the grave. O! turn to God and live–then come pain, separation, war or death, you will feel a secret peace which nothing can destroy. King Jesus will be your leader and when the death damp gathers on your brow, you’ll feel no fear: your happy spirit will take its flight to the heaven of bliss, and there leaning on the bosom of your God, you’ll spend an eternity in praising him who hath redeemed you from your sins’ and led you in triumph through the fiery furnace unto the portals of the New Jerusalem.
Source: Bettie of Oxford, “A Word to the Soldier,” Biblical Recorder, July 29, 1863 (link)
